


these shadows haunt you

by argent_snow



Series: Facsimile of a Soul [1]
Category: Almost Human
Genre: AU, All canon facts about MXs we know so far are included in here, Gen, Prequel to 'ghost in the shell', Serious!fic, including their access to a universal memory database which they daily upload to, maybe semi-tragic, my take on one of the ways an MX could have a 'soul', the MX-a-la-Red-Shirt running gag in the show turned serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argent_snow/pseuds/argent_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unit 701 has been offlined exactly six times, and each time, he returns as a differently numbered unit. Memories of his past cycles have been completely wiped from his memory banks when he is recycled and restored, but they begin to creep back in small, harmless ways – like hindering him with an aversion to fire trucks, or having him mix his partner’s coffee preferences with a person he has never met. It grows more troublesome the more he is brought back, until it haunts him unlike any other of his series. Prequel to 'ghost in the shell'. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these shadows haunt you

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t own Almost Human. I wrote ‘ghost in the shell’ and posted it in December 2013, but I wrote this around the same time I wrote ‘ghost in the shell.’ I posted the latter first since I wasn’t quite sure how this one would be received (considering this is MX-centric and there are OCs everywhere), but seeing how the MXs are portrayed in the show (they keep dying in inglorious ways, lol =_= ), in addition to my slow progress on Chapter 2 for ‘ghost in the shell,’ convinced me to post this up. And yes, I know the new episode Unbound will blow this out of the sky as soon as its broadcasted tomorrow. **You can read this by itself, but it contains elements from the sequel (like Ouroboros, which is a criminal organization within this fictional city I’ve made up called Cyprus, which is near the city in the show), so reading ‘ghost in the shell’ first and then this, or vice versa, should work either way.**
> 
> I apologize to my readers who have been waiting updates for my other fanfics, and I thank you all for your support and kindness. You guys are all awesome! *throws hearts and MX plushies* And yes, this will be completed first before I post Chapter 2 for ‘ghost in the shell’ (if you’re curious, everything’s written, but I am currently suffering through the cursed urge-to-rewrite stage. Where’s a beta reader when you desperately need one, haha). Expect an update every 1-2 weeks (since this is completed and I am just editing/re-writing some parts).

* * *

**Chapter 1 - The First Life: 399, Part 1**

... 

_“MXs have no intuition, or as you might say, **no soul**. For them, experience, **memory is just recorded data.** ”_

-          Dorian, Episode 1: Pilot

* * *

 

_-1-_

…

 

He was one of the first.

To say he was ‘one of the first,’ was a broad generalization. There were over hundreds of thousands of MXs constructed to replace the DRNs. He was just another face, another product – perhaps the hundredth one, or the thousandth that had been made. It didn’t matter, because he was one of the many weapons for law enforcement, a disposable shield that was easily replaceable. He was not special, as he shared the same frame with the rest of his series. A male Caucasian face was plastered over his solid carbon fiber and silicon skull, a face he shared with the other MXs of the exact appearance. The A.I. that was downloaded onto his platform, his body, was the copy that all MXs received.

They were logical. They could not feel emotions. They were built solely to serve.

They were not made to be human, and there was no mimicry of a soul embedded in their codes.

But he was one of the first.

And sometimes, being the first of a new line was not always good.

 

* * *

 

_Your world begins with a gunshot._

…

When he awoke, a dying woman greeted his new eyes.

Her face encompassed the majority of his vision, pale and drawn. He immediately identified her as Sergeant Sarah Lynn. She was kneeling beside him, her index finger still on the oblong power button on his forehead, warm and unsteady.  Her other hand was pressed against her abdomen. Blood trickled past her fingers, dark red and constant. Fatal, his HUD reported.

Still laying down, his blue eyes swept around his surroundings, cataloguing variables in less than three seconds. They were inside a transport truck, turned over on its side. Body bags were scattered around them, the faint outlines of the MXs it carried visible on the material. Some of the bags were open, unmoving arms, legs, or head splayed out in unnatural angles. All of them were un-activated, and the majority of them had sustained damage. His audio receptors easily caught the harsh gunfire, sirens, and yells outside. A hypothesis forming in his CPU, the MX connected to the network.

He was the only one online.

His eyes snapped back to the woman’s, just in time to see her mouth part, ready to speak. The MX registered a sudden, unknown frequency.

_Bang!_

Her face froze, expression slightly surprised. But the moment was burned into his optics the instant it began.

‘ _Help them,’_ her lips had formed.

A warm substance splattered onto his cheek.

The woman keeled forward, falling beside him. Her hand brushed his shoulder as she hit the ground, her vitals blacking out on his HUD even before then.

The contact stirred something within him. Before he realized it, he was already sitting up, gears and joints whirring for the first time. He grabbed the un-activated MX beside him and hoisted it in front of himself, just as more bullets were fired. Dull, metallic thuds sounded out as each one hit the other MX’s chest.

In one smooth movement, he took the pistol that the woman had laid beside him and swung it under the crook of the android’s arm, returning fire at the assailant. The sound of a bullet striking a metallic head was shortly followed by a loud thud.

The MX stood up, still gripping onto the back of his makeshift shield, and clambered quickly over the body bags and other un-activated MXs, uncaring of whether he stepped on a limb or face. All of them were damaged, and there was no time for him to search under the pile for any still intact like him. He paused by the body – a BMR, Black-Market Robot, he noted, with an Ouroboros sigil tattooed on the back of its hand – and bent down to relieve it of its weapon. He swung the new weapon’s strap around himself and let it dangle limply by his side.

Red lights swirled from his left data port and under his cheek as he scanned the environment outside. His optics pierced through the wall of the truck, tracking eleven bio-signatures, and three strange frequencies similar to the one the BMR had emitted, which were in the proximity of eight the former. The other three were undoubtedly the rest of the officers.

There were no other MXs. He couldn’t even use the Central Memory Storage to consult and formulate a tactical response. This was the first day that the MXs were shipped out and no video logs had been uploaded yet. He had no experience to fall back on, except for his pre-programmed abilities and protocols – and even that was useless without the former.  

His indecision only lasted a second. Purposefully, he took out one of the pulse grenades in the vest’s slots and calculated the distance and radius, along with the force he needed to apply. Then, he activated it and briefly reached out into the open to lob it toward the assailants.

Shouts of surprise and alarm. The bio-signatures lurched away, while the frequencies hesitated in those pivotal seconds. The grenade went off before any of them could make significant distance.

Without a pause, he picked up the woman’s pistol and the other MX’s body again, and launched himself to his feet. By the time he stepped out of the transport truck, two of the frequencies had flickered out, and four of the bio-signatures were wavering between life and death. He didn’t wait for them to recover.

The officers, overwhelmed and injured, stared in shock as an MX calmly stepped out of the downed transport truck and walked toward the criminals. The android was hilariously underdressed for such a dire situation – wearing only the factory, navy-blue body suit all MXs came in with, but the inactive MX he held in front of him as he fired at the hostiles served him just as well.

Officer Ebbing swore under his breath, a sentiment that his colleague echoed. The android’s languid stride was juxtaposed by his merciless dispatch of the assailants. His expression never shifted as he moved to his next target, throwing aside his weapon and taking the one strapped around his body when the former ran out of ammo.

He killed six criminals that day, and the rest were gunned down by the remaining officers. The illegal androids were summarily made scrap metal.

 

* * *

 

The scene was awash with the flashing, red and blue lights. The paramedics were already treating the surviving officers, and the backup unit moved to secure the area. The deceased officers had already been moved to the gurneys and covered with blankets. The rest were ignored in favor of recording and cleaning up the site.

A dull, metallic noise sounded out when Detective Cain kicked one of the BMRs. The deactivated android rolled over, metallic wires and parts scrapping the ground. Half of its synthetic skin on its face had been blown apart by the bullet that impacted its eye. The man felt the urge to draw out his gun and shoot up the thing a bit more for taking part in slaughtering his friends, but his partner’s voice cut through his thoughts before he could do so.

“There were six officers. Where’s Sergeant Lynn?” Detective Hosseini asked.

Cain lifted his head, sweeping his eyes around. He stopped when saw some movement in the transport, and his hand flew to holster. An MX emerged from the truck. He relaxed, but then stiffened in surprise when he saw who the android was carrying.

The MX’s eyes paused briefly on the detectives, but soon he was moving again, heading toward the ambulances. He walked past the milling officers and paramedics, never acknowledging their presence, and placed the body of Sergeant Lynn onto an empty gurney. The android took hold of the blanket and moved it over to cover the officer’s body, but stopped short of her face.

The sound of approaching footsteps made the android lift his eyes.

“Detectives Hosseini, Cain,” he greeted flatly. His eyes were blank, a lifeless steel-blue that made a shiver run down Cain’s spine. It looked alien on his human face, somehow colder than a DRN’s. “How may I assist you?”

Cain’s eyes lingered on the carmine splotch on the android’s cheek, and then dropped to Lynn. Her expression was frozen in a caricature of surprise. “What was she doing back there in the transport truck?”

“I do not know. I was not online prior to the attack.” A pause, as the MX seemed to contemplate something. “When I was activated, she had fatal injuries and ordered me to assist the other officers. The situation was severe by the time I stepped out. I believe she realized this and tried to search for undamaged MXs that could help.”

A sacrifice. The ambush had been well coordinated, and backup was too far off to quickly respond. It had been mostly successful too, seeing how only this MX was brought online. Cain wondered how Lynn had felt as she went though body bag after body bag, before finally reaching this one. It had been a desperate move, but it had counted in the end. Cain didn’t even want to think what would have happened if the MX had been too slow to surprise the Ouroboros members.

Hosseini noticed that the MX’s eyes had dropped back to Lynn’s face. His head was tilted slightly as he silently regarded the dead woman.

“What’s wrong?” Hosseini asked.

“She is deceased,” the MX absentmindedly said, not looking up. He slowly reached out, his fingers hovering several inches over the woman’s brow.  His large hand casted a shadow over her eyes, which were still open and gazing sightlessly at the clear sky. “There is no need for her to process visuals any longer.”

The two detectives glanced at each other, both of them wondering if the MX’s CPU had somehow been jostled when the truck had been attacked.

“Well, people can’t close their eyes when they’re dead,” Hosseini said slowly.

The MX didn’t answer. Very slowly, as if he were hesitant, the android brought down his hand and passed it over the woman’s eyes. When he withdrew, Lynn’s eyes were closed. It looked almost as if she were sleeping.

The human gesture startled the detectives. “What –” Cain began.

“Our eyes are closed before we are activated,” the android said, looking calm as he stared down at Lynn. “We have no power in that state.” A longer pause, before the MX pulled the cover over her face. A pale outline of her could still be seen through the material, reminiscent of the body bags that held the MXs.

“She is dead,” he repeated, as if that was explanation enough.

 

* * *

 

Usually, a person’s reaction to receiving an award would be pride. If the situation the person’s actions had been commended for was a pyrrhic victory, then pride would be replaced by a hollow feeling. Questions, guilt, and would-ifs would dog the person’s heels – _why did I survive? I was too late to save all of them_. _Why me?_     

But 399 wasn’t a normal person. Or a person at all.

The newly unit-designated MX turned the award over in his hands methodically, with the air of someone detachedly observing an item of questionable quality. Rainbow flecks of light scattered across his face.

The object in his hands was made of faux crystal, something that was sold for at a price range between seven to ten dollars. Using the network, 399 calculated the cost was around fifteen dollars and thirty-two cents, if the custom engravings on it was taken into consideration, and at least nine dollars, if the Police Department had received a discount and bought it in bulk – a hypothesis he was 97.3 percent confident of, since the award looked similar to the handiwork of a local shop. It was carved in the shape a rectangular prism, with the laser-printed tri-arrow symbol of the Police Department etched at the top. Below were the words – _Combat Cross: Given to Unit MX-43-399 of the 10 th Precinct, Beta Region, Cyprus, for his outstanding actions on January 13, 2044 against an Ouroboros Attack._

Memories of the deceased officers flashed through his CPU, with Officer Lynn at the forefront. Blank, unseeing eyes. Carmine splatters. A sluggish heartrate. Vitals plummeting. A second between life and death – and he had seen the exact moment when a human ceased to live.

Nine dollars, give or take. Nine dollars for the lives of five human officers.

An MX’s price-tag was roughly over a hundred thousand dollars, if one were to factor in the maintenance, charging, and supplementary costs. Money did not matter to him, but from how the news reporters had reacted, and the blunt questions they had hurdled at the Police Commissioner, 399 had the sense that the MXs were a precious asset – monetary-wise – and to lose all those dollars in an instant was staggering. There was more concerns about the funds lost than the actual MXs themselves.

But the deaths of the human officers had a different reaction.

Their funerals were scheduled in three days, with full honors and ceremony. There would be a long procession – one he and most of the MXs were not a part of, as they had to do traffic control – and hundreds of officers would be attending.

There was no way for 399 to determine the costs of a human, much less each downed officer. He would have to account for all the costs from birth to death, and that included bills that he had no access to. He did not know how much a human was worth, but he knew it was obviously more than nine dollars. The humans had cried out about the monetary damages incurred when the MXs were destroyed, but when the subject shifted to the deceased officers…

The dichotomy between the two was glaring. 399 did not understand the emotions or undercurrent of tension involved with the latter, but he understood the intensity of a reaction. For the humans to put this much effort and hours for their deceased colleagues meant something.

He just didn’t know what.

His red processor lights traced across his cheek as he quickly accessed his records in the database.  The Combat Cross had already been listed under the appropriate section.

399 turned it around his hands once more, watching how the sunlight refracted on its edges, before unceremoniously plopping it into the empty cup holder beside his left armrest.

The noise made his partner glance away from the headboard, and the corners of her lips twitched when she saw what he had done. “Don’t like it much, do you?”  

“It serves no function to me,” he replied tonelessly, dodging her question.

Janet wasn’t surprised by his answer. Her DRN partner, 047, had echoed a similar statement when he had received his award, not quite understanding why the Department would give him a possession that he could not store or put on display. Although it was nice of the Department to even make an effort of treating their androids as actual officers and not blatantly like equipment, Janet knew that the true purpose was for politics. The press conference that she and 399 had just left from reinforced that.

Cyprus’s Police Department had decided to continue the tradition of awarding the DRNs for their acts of valor, and had given 399 an award for his quick actions.  Truthfully, it was hosted for the higher-ups to cast aside the remaining doubts the public still had about the continued use of police androids. Vague answers were given in reply to the questions concerning Ouroboros’s ambush on the transport truck carrying the first MXs to the city, and the monetary losses incurred. Purple Heart medals had been given to the families of the deceased officers, but further comment had been declined to let them mourn in peace.

Janet remembered how the MX had reacted when they had presented him the award. He had no visible reaction, and didn’t blink when he was bombarded by camera flashes. The android simply accepted it with an impassive face and held it as if it were an everyday object to be tossed somewhere later. And perhaps it was to him, since the commendation was also imprinted into his electronic records – more permanent and lasting, and the only thing that could be seen whenever his history would be accessed.  

But she had a feeling it was even more practical than that. A logical being like himself wouldn’t see the point of an award at all, when he was just simply doing his job.

She picked up the award, tossing it experimentally from one hand to another. “I think you’re wrong about that,” Janet said.  His eyes slid to her when she said this, and although his expression never changed, she had the sense that she had caught his attention. “If you ever run out of bullets – that’s happened to me and 047 three times, by the way – this would make a pretty handy weapon.”

He looked thoughtful. Janet knew this because his processor lights had given him away.

“A valid point, Officer Buliga. I can apply up to 9,806.7 newtons when I throw it, or less to temporarily incapacitate the target. It’s possible I can take down a BMR too, if I hit its head,” he said seriously. A pause. “How did you come to this idea?”

She shrugged. “Just thinking outside the box.” When he stared blankly at her, Janet remembered what the Chief Technician had told her about the MXs when she had gone to pick 399 up. _They take things literally, so don’t go cracking out metaphors or something and expect them to understand it like a DRN_. “Uh, it means using creativity to come up ideas that aren’t straightforward. Like this paperweight here –”

“Award,” he corrected.

“Yeah, but it can _also_ be a paperweight,” she said slyly. “When a person first sees this thing, the automatic assumption is that it’s only good for decoration. But there’s other stuff you can do with it besides that – like burning ants, or bashing a perp’s head. Those ideas are _outside the box_ , because they’re not something that a person is most likely to think of.”

He was silent for a moment. “In other words, finding a solution that isn’t automatically provided by my subroutines.”

She beamed at him. “That’s right.”

He gave her a flat look. “‘Thinking outside the box’ is a poor and illogical comparison. It would be easier to use my explanation.”

Janet cackled, undeterred by his disapproval. “There’s more where that came from, buddy. You’re gonna have to get used to it.”

“An inefficient form of communication,” he repeated. 

The woman merely grinned and placed the plaque back into the cup holder. She pulled the cruiser out of the parking lot and started on their route for the day. The MX didn’t initiate conversation with her again for a long while, his eyes staring straight ahead, occasionally glancing outside the passenger window. Patrol passed like this for nearly half an hour, only intermittently broken by the radio, or Janet slurping her coffee.  

And then his voice sounded out, an unruffled tone as tranquil as the silence in the car.

“I do not have any place to keep the award.”

“Oh yeah.” She forgot about that. Janet recalled the DRN facilities – which were now the MXs’. It wasn’t exactly a homey place. “Open storage spaces, right?”

He turned his head. “Correct. It would be irresponsible of me to leave it there.”

 _Well, I doubt any of the MXs will nab it under your nose_ , she thought wryly, but didn’t voice it out loud. She knew he had a different meaning in mind. “No problem. I’ll just hold it for you in my desk’s drawers. Feel free to take it out whenever you want.”

Because she was focused on the road, she didn’t see how his lips had thinned. Something inscrutable flickered in his eyes.

“Unlikely, as it is already in my records. But I appreciate your offer.”

 

* * *

 

Janet’s shift was over since an hour ago, but she was writing several reports for the incidents that occurred today. The precinct was mostly empty, save for several officers and MXs on night duty. The lights on their floor were all turned off except in the office area where Janet and some of her colleagues were still working at.

399 sat in the chair beside her, peering over her shoulder and reading what she was writing. She had given him a strange look when he had done a similar action on their first day as partners while she was filing a report in their cruiser, and her muscles had tensed for a reason he couldn’t discern. Janet hadn’t rebuked him though, and so he continued to do the same thing every day. Eventually, her shoulders had eased and the strange expression faded as the days lengthened, and she even thanked him when he added on to some of the events she was writing, reminding her of small, but important details that human minds seemed incapable of remembering. He didn’t fault her for it. Humans had their limits, as well as MXs. And what one lacked could be supplemented by the other.

It was an effective partnership.

Now though, he noticed that Janet was operating at less than her usual working capacity. Her handwriting was gradually becoming messy – at least, messier than her usual standards – and the pauses between her contemplations and writing were becoming longer and more frequent. The silence was also periodically broken by a strange sound coming from her throat, which he suspected was muffled yawns. Her breathing was becoming slower, deeper, and her eyes would occasionally dart to the picture frame she kept near her desktop.

399 considered taking her thermos and filling it with coffee. Two sugars, three creams – the way she had always prepared it when they stopped by the lounge room or a coffee shop. The effect the drink had on her – and numerous other officers – was always a positive spike in work efficiency. But he recalled the amount she had imbibed in that day, and the decision was terminated. Too much caffeine would negatively impact her health and sleep-cycle.

When Janet’s eyes lingered on the photograph for the fifth time, 399 spoke up.

“Officer Buliga. Are you alright?”

“Hmm?” She dragged her eyes away from the picture. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Just zoned out for a bit.”

399 was quiet for a while. “Do you need me to get you anything? If you continue at this rate, it would take you approximately 53.47 minutes to finish your reports.”

Her lips quirked slightly. “53.47 minutes, huh? That sounds horrible.” She pressed her stylus against the transparency again. “Thanks, but it’s fine. I’ll finish this.”

She began writing again, picking up her pace now, but it gradually began to decrease as the minutes passed. Her brow furrowed when she glanced at the picture again, the corners of her lips pulled down into a frown. 399 followed her gaze, his eyes resting longer on it than the previous times as he seriously regarded the picture.  

What was the reason for her distraction? He identified the people in the picture, a man holding a five year old boy, as Simon Buliga and Joseph Buliga respectively. Her husband and son.

He combed through their records, looking for any anomalies that might be concerning. There were none – except this one inconsequential fact that he was sure had no relation to her current state. He voiced it though, because it was the only thing he could find.

“Today is your son’s birthday.”

Janet jerked in surprise, twisting around in her seat to look up at him. “Y-yeah, it is. How did you –” she stopped abruptly, slapping the palm of her hand against her forehead. She had temporarily forgotten that MXs could access records and such. “Stupid question, nevermind. Was I that obvious about it?”

He blinked. “Obvious about your son’s birthday? That is the cause of your distraction?” His tone was unruffled, but the wording of his statement gave Janet the impression that he was surprised to see that he was right.

“Yeah, it is. It’s a –” Janet paused, tapping the end of her stylus against the transparency as she tried to find the correct words.

Explaining human behavior to an MX was nigh on difficult, but she always tried, especially since 399 seemed genuinely curious and willing to fill the gaps in his knowledge. To make better decisions, she suspected, since this wasn’t something he could pull off from the Central Memory Storage. She didn’t know whether to feel amused or concerned that he was approaching things like this like a tactical situation. “It’s a very special – very _important_ day. It’s a day when a person was born, and that person is very precious to the family they were born into. I know there’s no logic to that, but that’s how we roll – connections and family are very important to us. Enough to sway our decisions, even if illogical. Anyway, we celebrate birthdays, but…”

“You were at work the entire day,” he finished. “There would be no time for you to participate in a celebration.”

She grimaced. “That’s right. And that’s what’s distracting me – besides much needed sleep – I just feel guilty. I wish I was at home earlier, but those gangs can’t off each other quietly and give us all some peace.”

 _Guilt_. Merriam-Webster Dictionary: _the fact of having committed a breach of conduct, especially violating law and involving a penalty_. He tilted his head, perplexed at her usage of the word.

“You are not guilty of anything, especially for not showing up at a celebration,” he told her. “You did not break any law.”

She chuckled, flipping her stylus around to continue writing again. At a faster pace this time, 399 noted. “I _feel_ guilty,” she emphasized. “There’s a difference between actual guilt and feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for something like this is like…is like feeling you’ve wronged someone because you didn’t meet up to their or your expectations or standards. Because you disappointed them and yourself.” She looked up when he didn’t reply, and was greeted with a blank stare. Janet sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “It’s all very illogical, I know. I’m pretty sure someone out there can explain it better to you, but I can’t.”

He didn’t seem to have heard her last statement, his eyes sliding away from hers and to the photograph.

“Tell me about your son.”

Janet stared at the MX, not quite believing her ears. The request was not only a sudden topic change, but the most uncharacteristic thing she had ever heard. Her partner had already moved his attention back to the transparencies sprawled across her table, but she knew he was still waiting for her reply. Janet cleared her throat, turning around and pressing her stylus against her report.

They passed the next thirty minutes that way, with Janet telling him random anecdotes about her son as she wrote her reports. 399 did not comment on any of them, only speaking out to help her with details she forgot to mention in her reports. If she hadn’t known any better, Janet would have thought that the MX was tuning out her words.

When she signed the last report and glanced at the clock, she was taken aback by the time she finished them in.

Less than 53.47 minutes.

Janet was still trying to figure out how that was even possible when it felt like much longer – she had talked so much her mouth became dry – when gloved hands suddenly came into her vision and shuffled the reports into a stack.

“You may go home, Officer Buliga,” 399’s calm voice thrummed beside her ear. “I will file these away for you.”

Janet blinked. “I still have to type them –”

“It will take less time for me to do that,” 399 dismissed. He was already powering on her desk top, pulling the keyboard toward him. She stared at him, mouth slack. For the life of her, she couldn’t find her voice to speak. The quick _clacks_ of finger tips striking keys startled her out of her daze.

“I – thank you, 399,” she finally managed to say.

The MX’s gray-blue eyes slid to her, his fingers never faltering on the keyboard. “Drive safely, Officer Buliga.”

The inflectionless, but meaningful statement made her grin. It almost sounded as if he wanted her to leave the precinct immediately.  

She wished him a good night, the thought that such a platitude was lost on him not entering her mind. It was minutes later when she was in her car and driving home, that she realized the reason for 399’s strange actions.

Janet chuckled. Despite the MXs’ inability to infer and make connections, to understand and feel emotions, they were observant in their own way. She had felt more energized when she talked about her son, the spoken words staving off her drowsiness and frustration.

He had turned her distraction into motivation.

 

* * *

 

They were on a car chase when he felt it.

The feeling of several MXs abruptly disconnecting from the network jarred him, costing him an opportune moment to fire the HALT gun at the fleeing car. Red lights flickered across his cheek as their final transmissions were transferred over the link and onto him. A hand suddenly grabbed his arm, and 399 was jerked back into the cruiser as Janet made a sharp turn, his helmet missing a pole by inches.

“Dammit man!” Janet swore, letting go of his arm. “You nearly got decapitated –”

“Bombing at Old Renaissance Apartments on Gerald Street,” he said over her words, dropping the HALT gun into the glovebox and slamming it shut. 399 flipped the sirens on. “Ouroboros hideout. Failed tactical operation.”

SWAT teams had been sent to raid the hideout, but Ouroboros had decided to bomb the place rather than let the police seize their assets. The tactical MXs had detected the frequencies seconds too late. The human officers didn’t even have time to react.

It was illogical, considering that it was a suicidal move for the members situated at that hideout. But in the weeks of his career, 399 had quickly learned Ouroboros’s style was to take down as much officers along with them as they could, regardless of the consequences.

The video logs from other MXs proved that.  

The radio cackled, and the dispatcher issued the same update seconds after he finished talking.

The cruiser decelerated as Janet processed this with a stunned look on her face. And then, she pressed on the gas pedal. They rocked side to side as Janet swiftly weaved through the civilian traffic.

“You got the guy?” Janet asked tersely.

“I have already alerted a nearby police drone. He can’t escape.”

“Good.”

 

* * *

 

The flames had reached three floors by the time their cruiser came onto the scene, and the complex beside it was already starting to catch fire. Fire trucks were parked around the apartment, and there were five high-pressure water hoses aimed at the gaping holes in the buildings, as well as fire-suppression foam. It only took 399 several seconds to see that the firemen’s efforts were in vain.

The flames were unusual, spreading too quickly – even with the high winds factored into the situation. The dark gray smoke it expelled was thicker as well. The MXs and officers that had arrived here minutes before them seemed to have realized this and were already in the process of evacuating tenants from nearby complexes and buildings. His eyes narrowed when he saw there were fewer human officers than MXs, and the notice that the other MXs had put out on the network confirmed his suspicions.

The cruiser screeched to a halt outside the perimeter. Janet quickly unbuckled her seatbelt but was stopped from exiting the car when 399 grabbed her arm.

“You have to stay in here,” he said. “The smoke is not just carbon monoxide. It’s mixed with a compound that was part of Ouroboros’s bomb.”

She faltered only for a moment. “Personnel’s stretched thin. I’ll find a mask later.”

He wanted to point out that they had most likely ran out of filter masks, if there was only this number of human officers on the site. But he recognized the firm expression on her face as one she often wore before bypassing his recommendations. She knew the risks, but this was her decision. 399 clamped down on his restless processes and released her arm, but not before sending out a ping to available MX units to bring him a filter mask.

The muffled sirens amplified in volume as they stepped out of the cruiser. They ran up to the incident command center. A harried-looking Officer Haley looked away from his MX partner 120 when they approached. The dark-skinned MX silently held out a filter mask to Janet. She accepted it and pulled it on, giving 399 a surreptitious glance.

“There’s another possible bomb,” Haley said without preamble. “Tactical MXs that went down there reported two unknown frequencies, different locations, before the explosion. Maybe from both, but –”

“Wouldn’t put it past them to save one for spite,” Janet finished. “How’s evac?”

 Haley tapped the screen on the table, bringing up a three-dimensional, holographic projection of the area. “Surrounding buildings going smoothly. Apartments’ mostly empty – everyone’s at work – but we’ve got some MX units with the firemen scouting for unaccounted civvies.” He gestured to the blinking red and yellow dots traversing through the upper floors of the west side. “East side is off limits. Site zero, unstable – and the second frequency was reported to be within twenty yards of the first. As far as we know, anyone living there are either at work or dead.”

Janet’s mouth twisted at this, but she did not probe further. Unless more information came up, protocol dictated that further resources could not be spent in that area, not when the risk was higher than the probability of a survivor. “And the fire? It’s spreading too fast.”

Haley pursed his lips. It was a legitimate concern. If the firefighters couldn’t contain it, the blaze would be disastrous. “Some type of chemical from the bomb, maybe. Idiots made a weapon they can’t even control.” He pointed to the border of the perimeter they established. “We need more people on the east-side. Make sure no civvies try to go back in.”

She nodded sharply and immediately left, with 399 close beside her.

 

* * *

 

The officers were having more difficulties than they should be, considering the circumstances. The logical reaction would be to leave the premises as soon as possible, but instead, 399 found himself confronting several civilians who had left work and insisted on finding their relations. Their actions made him recall what Janet had told him a week ago, when she was explaining human connections. With this in mind, he decided not to point out the recklessness of their decisions and talked to them in the most placating manner his subroutines allowed.

399 was called over to assist Janet and another officer, Rodriguez, track down the whereabouts of a woman’s mother, whose name had not been on the list of accounted people. He was going through the transmissions of other MXs on the scene when a yell suddenly broke out nearby. The two officers glanced toward the direction of the noise, but 399 kept his focus on the civilian.

“Elena Lasker has been rescued by a fireman,” he told the relieved woman. “She will be moved to the triage station over there.”

The woman thanked him and hurried away. Free of his objective, he turned his attention toward the commotion just in time to see a man – Kevin Jenkins, he identified – try to lunge past an MX that shared 399’s face.

The other android easily caught him before he could even step past the perimeter, arms unyielding as the man resisted.

“I cannot let you pass –”

“My wife and children are still in there!” the man screamed, struggling to break out of the MX’s hold. “Let me go!”

399 caught the look that passed between Janet and Officer Rodriguez, and the man moved to fill in her position when she broke away from the line. He wavered between staying at the perimeter or accompanying his partner, before choosing the latter a second later. The two of them ran up to the still thrashing man and the unperturbed MX.

“Sir, please! Calm down,” Janet said, grabbing the man’s attention. “Are you sure they’re still in there? Where are they?”

Kevin stopped resisting, and seeing this, the other MX eased his hold on him. The man shrugged away from the android in disgust. “They’re in Complex C, number 415. I-I called them, and Sally told me they were heading to the fire escape, but the connection – I don’t know, I don’t see them –” his voice broke off.

399’s processor lights traced across his cheek as he quickly ran through the logs from other MXs on the scene. None had encountered the man’s family among the evacuees, and the list of accounted people did not hold their names. He connected to the police drone above the scene. “I am 98 percent confident that his family is still trapped up there,” he told Janet. “Schematics show that room 415 is on the east side, near where site zero was. Path to stairways shows extensive damage.”

The other MX overheard him. “Your wife and children were near the explosion. Structure on the east side is unstable. There is a 96.5 percent chance they have succumbed to the fire or have been fatally caught by falling debris,” 845 said dispassionately to the distraught man. Janet’s expression became pinched, lips pressed into a thin line. “There is no point in risking the firemen’s lives for a rescue –”

“I can go in there,” 399 interrupted. “We are flame retardant –”

“That is wasting resources,” 845 cut across him. The other MX’s tone was composed, but there was a noticeable difference in the volume. “Statistics show –”

“Get onto it,” Janet said, her eyes on 399. “Take an available MX with you, and get the firemen’s breathing apparatuses. Keep in contact with me on internal comm line.”

“Copy.” 399 glanced toward Officer Haley’s MX, who was already jogging up to them, alerted by the ping 399 had sent out seconds ago. Once 120 was there, the two MXs immediately departed for the nearest fire truck.

“Search hard!” Janet called after them, her voice nearly swallowed by the piercing sirens and yells. “But be careful!”

399 raised his hand to show that he heard. But even though it was his idea, his recommendation – he did not have the confidence that Janet exuded. 845 had been right.

The chances of survivors were slim. 

 

 

 

 

.

.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank you for reading this, as well as any kudos or comments you decide to drop. And if you happen to be anonymous reader, know in advance that I appreciate you as much as I appreciate the registered readers. Thanks! :-)
> 
> I imagine at some point, several MXs that have been recycled too often will get tired of being shot at all the time (mostly because of unintended side-effects). 399’s one of them. There’s also another MX that will be like 399 that you see briefly in this chapter, and will show up again in the future. Because of course, 399 isn’t the only ‘special’ one out there – there’s Valerie’s MX 700, for instance 8D. *gets shot* But no, it isn't 700 if you're wondering. He shows up later in 'ghost in the shell.' x-)
> 
> I'll post more about the headcanon that's behind this fanfic in Chapter 2, but I have a feeling you smart people already know what's happening, haha, especially if you ran into the same problem like me with your half-dead laptop. x_x
> 
> This was originally a one-shot, but then it got so long I was forced to separate it into chapters to make it less confusing, and then I had to split Chapter 1 into two parts because it was getting obscenely long (not as long as my Author's Notes, lol jk). So no worries, Chapter 2 is coming within this week or next. I know I have a bad track record when it comes to completing fanfics, but like I said earlier, everything's mostly written. I just don't upload them in a timely manner because I fret constantly over their quality.
> 
> On the matter of an MX's price range. Did you know that: an unmanned military drone (ex: General Atomics MQ-9 Reaper) is worth $16.9 million, and that’s only the flyaway cost (which doesn’t account additional costs such as support equipment or maintenance). I don’t even want to think about how much a sophisticated, police combat-model android would cost in real life (especially DRNs, I imagine that being the more complex of the series would make them cost more than the MXs). The fact that the city shown in the TV show seems to have a large number of MXs and others (so far, I’ve seen unit designations go as high up as to 900), and the fact that the MXs seem to be destroyed quite frequently only makes my head hurt more. Especially since the USA has only 104 of these Reaper drones, and the program costs are roughly $11.8 billion. So to quote Captain Maldonado, those MXs are expensive (like, how are they not bankrupt already, I’m an idiot when it comes to money and finances, but I’m pretty sure billions of dollars is a lot). So for the purposes of my story (at the risk of sounding like an uneducated person), I decided that the MXs’ price range are going to fall roughly in between a hundred thousand to a million per unit. Somewhere in that range. I dunno. I sound like an idiot now, lol.
> 
> This story can also be found on Fanfiction.net and Tumblr under the same pen-name (argent-snow), in case you’ve come across it before.


End file.
